Aftershocks
by Ellethiriel
Summary: After the battle against Bertholdt and Reiner, Armin shatters. It's a good thing Mikasa is there for him. (No pairings.)


**A/N: Written because I love Armin and think his relationship with Mikasa is pretty underrated. Still disappointed that Mikasa didn't hug him in episode 56 or the manga.**

**All relationships in this fic are meant to be platonic. The Shiganshina trio have been through a lot of traumatic stuff together, and I think that forges a familial bond like no other.**

**(edit 9/27/19: This fic went through a lot of deletions and revisions before I posted it, and I mistakenly erased one thing in the process: the fact that Armin's wearing an actual shirt that Eren found for him at his house, not just that Scout jacket. :p I tweaked a sentence slightly to make it more clear.)**

**Rated T for violence and a panic attack.**

* * *

_The Colossal lit up, and Armin's world narrowed down to three things: the roar, the heat, and the pain._

_Searing white swallowed his vision, pierced through with flickering red. The steam was inescapable, thick and scorching; a rushing blast so strong it tossed him like a rag doll at the end of his tether._

_And it __burned__ — he was burning all over. Everywhere. The steam scalded his throat, seared his lungs. It twisted into his nerves, curling like blades beneath his skin. He gasped in one shallow, agonizing breath, and choked on the heat and pain._

_Bertholdt had taken the bait._

_Desperately, Armin forced his eyes open a crack, peering out past the scant protection of his arms and praying that the anchor still held. He followed the line with his eyes from where it started at his waist, tracking it through the white-hot clouds... and saw that it was still anchored deep in the Colossal's teeth. And the Colossal was stationary. The relief that flooded him then nearly eclipsed the pain. Thank God, he was __right__. He was right about that at least—_

_Steam whirled into his eyes, and he shut them quickly, waiting for a gust of cooler air. When one came, he hauled them open again… and his heart stopped__._

_The Titan's face was gone, replaced by... Bertholdt's face. Bertholdt's human face on the Titan's body, half-obscured by steam. His eyes were haunted, agonized, brimming with tears, and they bored into Armin's very soul__._

_"Armin, why...?"_

Armin jerked awake with a gasp and sat bolt upright. His heart was jumping like a live thing behind his sternum, and he sucked in precious, frantic lungfuls of air, looking around wildly. He was shaking so hard he could barely focus — he was still burning, he needed to save his friends, he... he _had_ to— but Bertholdt—

He suddenly realized he wasn't burning, wasn't actually in unbearable pain. He also realized everything was dark, and that he had no idea where he was.

His breath hitched. What was happening?

There was a faint sound from his right. Armin whirled, peering in that direction, and his eyes finally adjusted enough to make out the muffled shape of... of Eren. Eren was lying next to him, bundled up in his sleeping roll and snoring softly with his mouth open.

The sight was so unexpectedly _normal_ that Armin could do nothing but stare for a solid few seconds as his brain stuttered, trying to process what was happening.

He turned, wildly, to his left, and found that Mikasa was also lying close, fast asleep on her back with her hair a dark halo around her head. They were clearly outdoors - the sky was black velvet, studded with stars. More people lay asleep around them, just shadowy lumps of blankets in the dark. A short distance beyond them, someone - Levi? - was sitting up, keeping watch against the sky—

—and with that, Armin _remembered_.

Shiganshina. Wall Maria. They were camped on top of Wall Maria. They had actually, _finally_ reached Shiganshina and Eren's basement, after four months of hell, but Commander Erwin and two hundred Scouts had lost their lives, and—

—he had eaten Bertholdt.

He had the power of the Titans now. He was a Titan. Like Eren.

Commander Erwin was dead. He had bled to death.

His dream wasn't even a dream at all — not entirely. It had actually happened; his subconscious had dredged it up from behind the gap in his memory. He'd… he'd _done_ that; lived it. He had actually... burned to death and then been brought back—

_"Armin, why...?"_

He shuddered and sucked in a quick, frantic breath. Dug both hands into his blanket and clenched it tight. A soft breeze was rising, tossing his sweat-damp hair and blowing it into his eyes, but it barely registered. He stared at his hands under the starlight - at the fingers that were his and yet not, the skin that wasn't the skin he had had all his life, too new and fresh and pink. His thumb tingled strangely when he brushed it cautiously against the back of his hand, and when he pulled back, he found he was trembling hard.

He was only alive now, only had this incredible second chance at life, because people had died for him. And not by their own choice.

He didn't blame Eren or Mikasa or Levi.

Bertholdt and Erwin were dead because of _him._

They were dead. They were _dead._

He'd _eaten_ Bert.

And _of course_ he had known, before even setting out for Shiganshina, that if they ran into Reiner and Bert, they would most likely have to kill them. He'd thought he had accepted that, even though it had cut him to the core – but he had never thought he would be the killer. And now, here he was. Bert's murderer, and through _cannibalism—_

Something squeezed in his chest, sharp and hot. The world spun. He snarled his fingers in his hair and gripped tightly, desperate for something to anchor him.

He... had eaten someone. Not just any someone, either. It was _Bertholdt_ — quiet, unassuming Bert, a guy he'd considered a friend not four months ago.

What kind of monster _was_ he now?

_Bertholdt... Bertholdt killed hundreds of people,_ the rational side of his mind whispered_. Eren's mom was bitten in half! Grandpa... Grandpa would still be _alive_ if it wasn't for him! He said we were devils, and he wanted to kill us all!_

_But..._

Armin could remember so much more.

Bert's face flashed before his eyes, the face of the old Bert, the one he'd spent years with. Bert, the guy who'd helped him out many times during training. The guy whose crazy sleeping positions were a running joke and a means of predicting the weather. The guy who was generally quiet and reserved, except for that one time he'd laughed so hard at one of Sasha's dumb jokes that he snorted a glass of water out his nose and all over Jean, who had never let him live it down. Bert, the guy who had planned to go out for drinks with all of them someday when they were old and gray.

...Bert, who had sobbed, just a few weeks back, asking what kind of person would _want_ his life. How he'd confessed that the camaraderie he and Reiner had shared with them had been real, had been the only happiness he'd ever had—

—He'd _eaten him_.

The cool night air was far too thick and far too heavy. Blood rushed hot in Armin's ears, drowning out all other sound, pulsing in time with the thump of his heart, and he couldn't seem to get enough air. The entire world felt unreal, because _how can any of this be real, how can it how can it how can it. Maybe I'm dreaming, maybe this is _all_ a dream, and I'll wake up at home and everything will be okay—_

He pinched his arm, hard enough that he was sure it would bruise. It hurt – hurt _bad_ – and that meant it _must_ be real, and—

Armin's heart dropped clear into his stomach.

_What if I go Titan?_

Was a pinch enough to trigger a transformation? If the skin was broken, maybe it was.

Eren had spent months unable to fully predict or control his Titan ability. And his Titan was only fifteen meters tall.

The Colossal, on the other hand…

_I have to get away from everyone. Now._

He stood up quickly, but his blanket was tangled around his legs, and he fell onto his sleeping roll on his stomach. He struggled to his knees, and suddenly realized he couldn't breathe at all.

The surge of fear and desperation hit Armin like a live wire. He could barely move - was shaking so hard that he thought he could hear his bones rattling. He was gasping and his chest was squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, and he couldn't get any air, and he was going to die and he was going to go Titan and people were already dead because he'd killed them and now his closest friends were going to die because he was going to go Titan—

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he flinched.

"Armin, what's wrong?" Mikasa asked.

Oh. He'd woken her up. A burning sense of shame flooded him. "Stay away," he tried to say, but all that came out was a desperate squeak because_ he could not breathe._

It felt like drowning.

It felt like trying to breathe against the roar of the Colossal's steam.

Something white and delicate spiraled through the dark before his eyes. Steam. Actual steam. He forced his arm up to his face. Steam was rising from the pinch on his forearm. It was healing. He wouldn't go Titan.

The sheer relief of that nearly made him lightheaded.

He still couldn't get any air.

Next to him, Mikasa inhaled sharply, and then she started talking again, voice measured and low.

"Armin, listen. It's okay. Slow down. Take deep breaths. Just breathe. Just breathe."

It wasn't 'okay'. Nothing would ever be okay. Erwin and Bert were dead, and he'd never be able to make their deaths worth it, and he still couldn't breathe. And yet... despite this, despite the guilt and terror coursing through his veins, he also felt an immeasurable sense of relief, because Mikasa was _here_ and he wasn't alone.

"Breathe," Mikasa said again. "In through your nose, hold it for a second, then out through your mouth. Come on, focus. Breathe." Her hand slid down from his shoulder, rubbing firm circles between his shoulder blades.

The effort of his gasping started to make his head spin. Focusing was difficult... but he knew she was trying to help. The least he could do was try to cooperate. He focused inward, trying to quell the panic and regulate his gasps, and finally managed to inhale shallowly through his nose, forcing it back out through his mouth.

"That's it," Mikasa said, still calm, still gentle, but with a relieved note in her voice that Armin could detect even through the rushing in his ears. "And again. You can do it. It's okay. It's okay."

Panic began to choke him again. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't. He couldn't—

—He _had_ to, because Mikasa expected it of him.

Armin closed his eyes. _Inhale. Hold. Exhale._ He forced himself to slowly pull in another breath and let it out through his mouth. Then another. And another.

"Keep going," Mikasa whispered. "That's it, you're doing good."

He kept at it, making his mind blank out and focus on nothing but her. She never faltered; her hand kept going, sweeping over his shoulders in an endless, soothing loop as she whispered words of encouragement. He zeroed in on that, trying to let it ground him as he breathed, forcing the swell of panic back.

His breathing at last found its way to somewhere within the range of normal, and Armin sagged, hunching over his lap. He was exhausted and shaking and faintly nauseous, nearly spent with the overload of the last few minutes. Mikasa drew him to her side, placing an arm around him as he trembled against her.

He wanted to say something, explain himself, but his mouth was too dry to form words. Mikasa understood, though, and leaned away to grab her canteen, then uncapped it and offered it to him. Armin tried to take it, but he was shaking too much to hold it steady, so Mikasa held it instead, and he managed to get down several swallows. The water was stale, but it settled his stomach.

She set it aside. Her arm remained, a comforting weight around him.

"I'm- I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment, and he didn't know how he managed to speak without sobbing when he felt an inch from breaking altogether. "I— I thought I was gonna go Titan- and B-B-Bertholdt and Comm-Commander Erwin— I'm s-sorry..."

"Don't," Mikasa said softly. "There's nothing to be sorry for. Please don't do this to yourself."

A sob tore its way from his throat, and then Armin shattered completely.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," she murmured, and he was dimly aware of her hand sweeping over his shaking shoulders and pulling him closer.

He sobbed harshly, unable to stop. Eren and the others were still asleep right beside him, though, so he brought his arm up to his face and did his best to muffle it all in his sleeve. A distant, detached part of him was embarrassed by his show of weakness, ashamed that Mikasa had to deal with this, but the rest of him was far too run-down and exhausted to care. The horror hollowing out his insides was visceral and all-consuming, more terrible than anything he'd ever known. And underneath it was the ever-present pain and uncertainty he'd endured over the past few months — the agony of living through so much death and blood and despair without knowing if it would ever be worth it.

He cried for a long while.

Somewhere along the way, Mikasa shifted, wrapping both arms around him and letting him bury his face in her right shoulder. He sniffled and gasped into her shirt. She smelled like smoke and dirt and sweat, but underneath that was a familiar scent that was unmistakably Mikasa. It was comforting, somehow... like home.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, stroking up and down his back. "I'm sorry."

Armin couldn't speak, but only nodded, shaking with another sob.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, under the starlit sky, gasping his grief into her shoulder. Mikasa simply held him and comforted him and let him be.

Eventually, his tears slowed to a crawl. He hiccupped one last time, then released a shuddering breath. The patch of fabric under his cheek was soaked. He didn't move, just sat there, clinging to her, unwilling to let go.

"'M sorry," he whispered again, voice a croak.

Mikasa shifted, and a second later, he felt her chin come to rest protectively on his head. "Don't be."

Exhausted tears pricked at his eyes. He clenched the back of her shirt between his fingers, some hideous need to confess driving him onward. "But- I can't- I-I'm not- I'm not worth it, I can't make their deaths worth it. I keep thinking about Bertholdt and-and Erwin... they're dead... why am I still alive? I-I _ate_ him, Mikasa... I _ate Bertholdt_... he's dead... why was _I_ saved-"

"Armin."

He blinked, and with an effort, swallowed back the tide of words.

Mikasa's arm squeezed, hugging him tighter. "Don't... don't _ever_ think you have to prove yourself 'worthy'. Don't _ever._" Her voice caught and quivered.

"But—"

"Don't."

Her tone, though gentle, brooked no argument. Armin wanted so desperately to believe her.

Mikasa steadied herself. "And it… wasn't _you_ who did it, it was your Titan. Not you. We chose, and it's not your fault. Levi told you. He was the one who made the final choice, and it's... it's already in the past."

Of course he remembered everything Levi had said, of course he did- but the captain's words were such empty, useless things right now- right now, when the grief and horror of everything were crashing in waves over his head.

"But - Bert- why him- I-" he started. He hardly knew what he was going to say, only that he had to say _something_, vent all the guilt he felt_._ He couldn't endure it alone. But his throat betrayed him, locking up painfully tight, and the last words lurched out as a sob.

"I don't know," she whispered, voice still a little shaky, and he realized then just how much she was hurting underneath the mask she wore. "I don't know... why any of this is happening. But... Bertholdt made his choice, and we made ours. And _none_ of this is your fault. Levi and Eren and me... it's on us."

She paused, arms tightening around him, and her voice broke completely. "I thought… I thought I'd lost you."

Somehow, hearing how much she cared made Armin's tears return in force.

He wanted so badly to believe her, believe that it wasn't his fault, believe that he was allowed to move on from this. The small, muted part of him that was still thinking logically _knew_ she was right and it wasn't his fault, not really. And he didn't blame her or Eren or Levi for any of the choices they had made, and he was so, so grateful to be alive, and Levi and Mikasa had _both_ told him not to regret the choice- and yet-

"H-how do I- how do I s-stop- stop regretting?" he managed between sobs.

She was quiet for a moment. "You... have to remind yourself that it's in the past and that you can only move forward. It's... not easy. It's hard. So hard. But that's all we can do."

She was right, of course. That was- that was the only thing he could do. No matter how hard it was.

He would do it. He would do it.

He _had_ to.

Mikasa began murmuring comfortingly again, and Armin realized he was still crying, but it was more exhausted than anything and was already slowing down.

There was one more question he needed to ask.

"W-what if go Titan? Accidentally? I—I don't know how this works, and I might… I m-might kill everyone—"

"You won't."

Her confidence gave Armin pause. "H-how do you know?"

"Because," she said, "you aren't like Eren. You've always been smart. Controlled. You wouldn't be able to transform without a good reason. I think… you'll be fine."

"R-really?"

"Yes."

He was far too weary to argue anymore, so he decided to believe her.

Minutes passed. The hollow place inside him gradually started to close, filling with a thick, dead kind of quiet, and the tears eventually stopped altogether. He breathed out into her shoulder, and slowly pulled away, scrubbing his eyes with his shirt sleeve. The night air was cooler now, and it was a welcome relief to his flushed face.

"You should get some rest," Mikasa whispered.

Armin looked her in the eyes for the first time. "Th-thank you."

She smiled; just a tilt on one side of her mouth, but it was there. "No need for that. Just go to sleep, okay? We're leaving around midnight, and you can't really sleep on the way back."

Sleep. That sounded… that sounded good.

Turning, he started fumbling with his blanket, trying to spread it over himself. Somehow, it was still tangled around his legs, and he was half-sitting on it. He yanked sharply, and it came free faster than he'd expected, and his hand bumped Eren's arm.

Eren's eyes came open. "Wha- wha's going on?" he slurred. "Armin? Wha's wrong?"

"It's... it's nothing, I'm just fixing my blanket."

"Oh." Eren's eyes slid shut again and he fell sound asleep, to Armin's relief. Small wonder, though – Eren was undoubtedly worn out. He needed all the rest he could get if he was to take them back to Wall Rose later that night.

Behind him, Mikasa lay down again with a sigh, and Armin followed suit, lying on his back and letting his eyes fall shut. It felt so good to just lie there, letting his mind empty of everything; the sheer mental exhaustion winding through him was greater than any exhaustion he could remember. He wanted to sleep forever.

He was on the verge of drifting off when there was a rustle from his right, and warm, calloused fingers laced clumsily through his. A little startled, Armin cracked his eyes open and found that the culprit was indeed Eren, still sound asleep and snoring gently.

Something soft and warm pooled in Armin's chest. He didn't let go.

"It's going to be okay," Mikasa reassured him quietly from his other side. "Just go to sleep, alright?"

Things weren't okay right now; hadn't been for years. But maybe, just maybe, she was right, and they would be someday.

He could hope, at least.

For now, that was enough.

* * *

When Levi arose from his silent vigil to wake the others, he found three of them cuddled in a heap. Eren clung to Armin's hand with his own, curled so close that his face was practically shoved into the kid's shoulder. Mikasa's left arm was thrown protectively over Armin, her head so close to his tearstained one that their hair blended. In sleep, the three of them looked... so much younger, somehow, as though all the hell they'd endured had bled away, leaving only children in its wake.

Some unidentifiable emotion swam through Levi, and he turned away to wake the others first.

* * *

**A/N: Hopefully nobody was too OOC.**

**Comments/reviews are very much appreciated! :)**

**(edit, 01/01/20): Just wanted to say that if this story felt a bit wordy or long, sorry. It's not quite my usual writing style. I have a tendency to get way too into characters' heads when I write, especially when it's angsty, and lemme tell you, writing this angst-pile of a fic was the most stressful thing I have done in a while. It was a struggle, trying to figure out how to convey the utter despair Armin was going through. In the process, I forgot the old adage 'less is more' and probably piled on too many words. D: Usually, I have the opposite problem with my fics and can't seem to make them long enough, haha. Anyway, I'm glad people liked it nonetheless. :) I might try and trim it down in the future; we'll see, I guess?  
**

**Thank you for reading!**


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